Chapter Text
The view from the Mountaintop stretched far, further than the walls of New Home could have; which appeared, to someone from that high, like thin lines on the maps.
At least to Alex, who was reminded of the endless graphite lines, drawn and erased, to draw battle plans against the royal army.
And now to see the lines of fortification up from the hills, the last remnants of royal powe—
“Sir Alexander?” A soldier, one of all the most valient men, asked for orders.
“You can leave me be for now, soldier. We’ll be on our way soon enough.” He ensured the army.
The soldier returned back to his camp.
What are triumphs without time to reflect on them? For a hero as proud as Alexander, someone as thoughtful as him required moments like these. A humble man, yet speaking proudly of his work for the revolution, would remember the circumstances that made him who he was.
The man that led the people to resistance, who started with a powerful speech in the university campus that would define New Citadel for its whole lifespan and for decades longer if it ever fell. The words “Strength through unity, strength through order, and strength through pride” echoed across the underground, sparking from the powdry dust left in the streets of New Home and in the minds of families who seek justice against the crown.
The man that led his armed soldiers to victory, leading charges towards enemy lines that demoralized his enemies, yet the morale of his own rode high amongst the ranks. A infantrymen or the highest-ranking general, they all saw the vision of a brighter underground.
The man that led towns towards independence, whose strength set an example for the people of the Underground as they elect the men of their own as figureheads to guide the townsfolk, and countless more to bring down the Dreemurr Family and its aristocracy.
For every triumph he brought to the revolutionary cause, he walked on the roads full of glitter, flower, and chants of those words that ignited the people’s uprising. Every monsters bowed down at his presence out of respect, every line of soldier saluted when he walked by, every town that he arrived to prepared gifts and tributes.
He was the example of bravery, fitting for his soul trait, and the power that it had; the man that would rise against immorality.
The images of the experiences with monsters flashed as he glanced without purpose, as tears, small yet telling, dropped slowly on his face, and a grin, that Alex couldn’t stop, slowly reveals itself.
And then the flashes of royal wrongdoings came, the vivid Crown Pentangon massacre—
He pulled his sword out of anger, his eyes were locked onto the castle standing tall. “You will pay for what you’ve done,” his eyes conveyed.
The reassurance of justice calmed the command, yet a new strange, mysterious feeling hit him.
His responsibilities, right. The men were probably waiting for the next course of action.
As he took a final view on the beautiful crystals that engulfed the underground, and a sunset that would exist until eternity, he turned his back on New Home, back to the military camp.
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As soon as Alexander was at the view of the soldiers, they bowed down in harmony, while his most trusted men approached his side. A stage was ordered to be quickly built, as he was to address the army for the storm to come.
After the stage had been constructed with wooden scraps, miraculously held together by nails that were left over, he began:
“Countrymen! This is the end,” his eye swept across the field, “but not for us.” Smirking, he remarked with the biggest grin in his face.
“From the woods of Snowdin, when we won our first battle.” The men from Snowdin raised their swords.
“To the crystals of Waterfall, where we left the enemy scrambling to retreat.” Men from Waterfall raised theirs, too.
“To the lava of Hotland, where we achieved the magnum opus of conflict.” Men from Hotland followed.
“To the sand of the Dunes, where we saw the backyard of New Home deserted.” And so did the men from the Dunes.
“And now to the rocks of Mountaintop, where we will imminently achieve the final victory.” And they all shouted: “Strength through unity!”
“Put those perpetrators to justice!”
The might of the army roared with chants of power, echoing all above the sky, while New Home was yet to realize that fieriness of their roars.
“Countrymen, I ask again, why fight for New Citadel?”
“For freedom!” One shouted.
“For liberation!” Another spoke up.
“For vengance!” “For justice!” “For honor!” “To show strength.” One after one, interruptingly cried above another.
Every men went, mostly repeating what has already been said.
Except few, but under the spirit of honor, they spoke alike to the others.
Except one, jumpy as a cat, but yet refused to jump forward for the cause.
Alexander walked up to the dishonored, and asked it once again: “Why fight for New Citadel?”
The man was unresponsive, staring forward but unable to calm themselves in the presence of the commander himself.
“Dishonorable.” Alexander turned back to the stage and called to end his service; they were immediately disarmed.
They were escorted out of the camp, forced to find their way back home.
The commander reasserted the focus, “The battle plans, please!”
At the beginning of the revolution, battle planning was at the responsibility of Alexander, as nobody else had the experience to fight a war. Soon enough, men who have shown their valor were promoted above the ranks of infantrymen, who were taught the ways of battle.
The magnum opus by the New Citadelian army that was the Battle of Hotland were precisely planned. No royal commanders had maps, tactics, or reconnaissance on the enemies like them; that left the royal forces flanked and encircled in the battle.
This battle, the battle of New Home, would take that status away from the battle of Hotland, Alexander hoped.
One of his generals began, “We had scouts map out the entire city from above. As the city is compacted, a corps-based [delocalized army groups] strategy would work in an urban battle zone.”
The field marshall agreed, while armies are stronger together, sometimes splitting into smaller groups works well in areas where a lot of coordination is required. The advance into the Dunes was mostly corps-based, and the strategy allowed their forces to catch up to the royal ones.
“Our mission should be to capture the castle, from reconnaissance we estimate the Garrison Force to be around 15 soldiers.”
“Easy battle, then.” Alexander interrupted.
“We think so too, if we move quickly enough, reinforcements would not reach to New Home when we have captured the Dreemurr’s family, though we thought of the possibility of escape.”
“Then, we should move fast regardless.”
“That’s my point.”
“How are we splitting our forces?”
“There are 3 paths towards the castle, we can divide ourselves into 2 groups of 10 and 2 groups of 5. On the 2 main paths, the former would advance and batter into their lines, and the latter would use the side path to flank the royal brigates. Then, we will unite into one when we all meet at the castle, and victory then will be ours.”
Alexander asked for a map, “the side path is in the middle, correct?”
The general nodded, “it’s a path full of alleyways, we could use it to create a surprise flank on enemy lines.“
Alexander continued, “And the main armies move along the side?”
“That’s where the main roads to the castle are, yes.”
Alexander gave the map back to the general,“We split up when we reach the gate, how does that sound?” He asked the crowd.
Nobody spoke in opposition.
“Well? Are we prepared to march?”
Another officer spoke, “Yes sir! Our logistics have already been neatly organized and packed.”
“Right, my countrymen.
Let’s give them hell.”
“The battle report. Give it to me, I’m ready.” Kasra took a breath, and prepared for the worst.
Business was as usual in New Citadel. Kids played in the park, the market left no empty spaces, and people walked to work as they do every day. The spirit of New Citadel, the shining beacon of the Underground, remained strong.
Yet in the presidential office of the Blue Capitol, as the sunlight shined into the room, the soldiers from the battle returned to deliver the news to the Human of Integrity.
“We…” The men cannot find the courage to speak.
…
The silence was unnerving, especially to Kasra, who was compelled to break it.
“Just give it to me, we don’t have all day,” she demanded.
Yet the men only turned to each other, nobody dared to be the bearer of bad news.
Until one did, “The men that fought in the battle…”
Her condenscing look imposed them to continue.
“Our soldiers will never be able to return.”
“As the groups of men got lost in the alleyways, reinforcements from New Home surronded the army. They never reached to the castle, as they had planned; and those who remained either miraculously found their way out of New Home, or suffered the same fate as the men in the battlefronts.”
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Out of the millions of questions Kasra asked, the most important question came to her mind. “And Alex?”
“He will not return, just like the rest of our countrymen.”
The room was never as dusk before, even under the bright sunlight, shining through the curtains. Yet hearts had never felt as bleak as it had ever.
“…You can leave, I’ll address the cabinet.”
As Kasra was left alone, she stared blankly into the room. A sharp bark of laughter escaped out of her.
She sniffled while small, yet slowly increasing, drops of tears made her face moist.
It didn’t help that a painting of the Great Alexander was pinned to the wall. Even when she tried, her eye stayed fixated on the image, of the great man, once alive.
She got up from her desk, and opened up the curtains.
The sunlight was too bright for the atmosphere of the room, yet her eyes continued to sweep around the city center.
She looked at the guards protecting the Capitol; the men and women that sat on benches, casually reading the Newspaper; and the children, oh the children, that chased each other around the fountain.
A tremble went through her body, “what if all of this, our beautiful town, was lost at this instance?” She thought out loud.
“No, this place must not be lost. I—we—will assure that the city never falls to hideous power like New Home, and their royal family.”
She decided to leave her feelings to cope another time, and that immediate action must be taken.
She headed to the secretary, “call everyone to the Capitol, desperate times call for desperate measures.”
The secretary nodded and began the phone calls; Kasra rushed to the meeting room.
And she awaited, waited to determine the fate of the revolution.
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“Here’s the battle report formally written, Lady Kasra.”
Everyone in the room expected that the worst case scenario had happened, but they hoped that this emergency meeting was not too devastating.
“The Battle of New Home was a disaster, over 20 men dropped dead or captured as prisoners or war. That leaves us with an army of 15 men, incomparable to the 30 soldiers of New Home. If you were also not aware, Alex was—”
“Alexander.” Lorien, now the Head of the Army, corrected.
Ignoring the comment, Kasra continued, “He was killed in battle. Now to my belief, New Citadel and its allies are not ready to send more men to battle.”
Lorien on one side of the room opened their mouth, but that look by Kasra stopped any remarks he was going to make.
“Therefore, I ask for the cabinet’s opinion, on drafting a peace treaty—”
Chujin, the Head of Science, stood up interruptingly.
“Dr. Ketsuka—”
“We must NOT do such thing. How can you, against the wishes of Alexander, defy to liberate?”
“Desperate times call for desperat—”
“Desperate excuses, that is! Our people will not accept any peace agreement between the two.”
“Do you want more men to die at our hands? If we are to continue fighting, they will reach to our streets and leave it full of dust. People are tired of war, monsters alike in the Underground only want to see the end of bloodshed in their towns and villages.”
Lorien broke his silence, “I’ll tell you what kind of bloodshed they are tired of, the massacres by the royal forces, to negotiate with the perpentrators is to accept that their actions will not be punished, ever.”
“The one time that we can come to a concensus!” Chujin joked, but really it was an insult to the proposal.
Without Alexander to lead it, the cabinent was too weak and indecisive to agree on anything at all. It was a headache to Alexander and Kasra when the field marshall had to leave for battle, and Kasra would have to mediate as she did not have the authority, or the respect of the military, or often called the Strongmen, to force a compromise.
Kasra, or it seemed to her, was on the good side of the Wisemen, comprised of scientists and other intellectuals raised by the campuses of the University of New Citadel, once the University of Old Home.
Despite this, both sides of the cabinent did not seem convinced of the proposal by Kasra. All of them joined the cause to bring forward justice to the royal family, to propose the idea to negotiate would have a crazy idea a day ago.
But Kasra, who first called for a conference in the University, felt destined to finish what she started, that was to create a nation away from the rule of the Dreemurrs’, and that the revolution had been finished, and cannot go further with the defeat in New Home.
And then she remembered the will of Alexander, that Kasra would be the successor to him if he ever died in battle, and the power that it gave her.
“I, with the power of Article 3, declare that peace must be made between New Citadel and New Home.”
And with that, the room went silent. Chujin was the first one to leave, then another cabinet member stood and exited the room.
More followed, until Lorien, who had the opportunity to spit in her face.
Hurt, but confident, determined, Kasra began drafting potential resolutions for a peace treaty.